A Series of Extra Scenes: The Sign of Three
by LittlePippin76
Summary: Little extra scenes that my brain has decided to tack onto the episodes. Hopefully mostly funny. I don't own or profit from these characters or this writing. Pip.
1. Tolerance

**I really enjoyed doing my little extra scenes for the Series Two episodes, so I thought I'd do a couple for Series Three too. As always, not necessarily something I would have enjoyed seeing in the episode - just places my mind has gone afterwards. Hope you enjoy. Pip xxx**

**Tolerance **

Molly marched to the table where Sherlock was sulkily sitting with cup of fairly tasteless coffee in front of him. The job he'd asked of her had been easy, and it hadn't taken long as soon as she'd banished him from the lab for distracting her.

Sherlock glanced up as she sat down.

'I forgot to ask you,' she said, 'who else are you inviting?'

This earned a blank stare. 'What do you mean?'

'To John's stag. Who else will be there?'

'Nobody else will be there. Why would anyone else be there?'

'Because John has other friends.'

'No, he's made it pretty clear that I'm the only one he actually likes.'

'Did he?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'That's certainly the way I interpreted it.'

Molly nodded. 'I think Greg's expecting to be invited.'

'Who?'

'Lestrade.'

'Oh. Him. No, John understands that there would either be other people, or there would be me. He was pretty clear in his decision. Now, to business; the figures.'

'Right.' Molly opened the folder in front of her, and drew out a piece of paper with her calculations on it. 'Now, obviously the amount consumed will depend on the alcohol type…'

'Obviously.'

'Good. Well, what will you be drinking?'

Sherlock frowned. 'He likes beer.'

'Any particular one?'

Another frown. 'No, I don't think so.'

Molly smiled a little to herself. Sherlock noticed.

'Does it matter? Obviously I'm aware of the percentage content of each.'

'Well that should be good enough then.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. 'Are you sure?'

'Oh yes. Only, maybe stay away from Stella.'

'Stella?'

'Never mind. Now, the actual amounts. I'm assuming you want to order in pints or halves…'

'I don't see that that's necessary.'

There was another small smile. 'Fine. In that case, I estimate that John should be able to manage four hundred and forty three point seven millilitres in each of the pubs you've mentioned, and you, of course, will need to order significantly less.'

'What?'

Molly smiled again at Sherlock's suitably outraged face.

'Your tolerance will be significantly lower.'

'But I'm taller.'

'So?'

'My body mass is greater.'

'Yes, but you wanted the practical touch, didn't you? John drinks regularly, and you don't. He's built up a tolerance, and you haven't.'

Sherlock gave Molly a delightfully stern frown. 'I'm relatively certain I can hold my own against John Watson.'

'John Watson who has been both a medical student and a soldier. That John Watson, you mean?'

There was a slight hesitation in Sherlock's eye now.

'Of course I can,' he muttered.

'OK, well you can suit yourself, of course, but I'd strongly recommend that you remember to eat regularly for at least two days before hand, and don't take any medication in that time. If you do that, you might… might be able to slightly increase what I've suggested here.' She slid the paper across to Sherlock.

'Seriously!' he snapped. 'That's really all you think I can manage?'

She smiled sweetly. 'You asked for my opinion. But like I said before, you're a graduate chemist, and could probably work it out yourself.'

Sherlock grunted and looked again at the figures. 'Well, thank you,' he muttered. He stood and marched out of the canteen, glowering.

Molly chuckled to herself for a while, and then pulled out her mobile phone.

'Greg?'

'Molly, hi! How are you?'

'I'm fine. Good. I just wanted to pre-warn you that Sherlock's intending to do John's stag alone.'

'Oh, no!'

'Completely alone. No guests.'

'Oh.' Greg sighed. 'Well, I suppose it is what it is.'

'I know where they'll be, if you wanted to crash.'

'No, no. I'll leave them to it, I think. I just hope that John gets a half way decent night. I can imagine him being bored witless while Sherlock drones on and on about tobacco ash or something.'

'Oh no. I'm pretty sure that that's not going to happen.'

'Really?'

'I could almost guarantee it.'


	2. Drunk tank

Drunk Tank 

John padded into the little cell, vaguely reaching out for Sherlock's arm to steady him, but missing entirely. He was vaguely aware, in an abstract kind of way, that Sherlock was in a bad way. He had managed to exit the ghost's flat, but then he had thrown up on the pavement while waiting for the police. And then again in the police car, which made John suspect there'd be some sort of fine. He couldn't quite work out how it had happened, though he recognised those death drops might have had something to do with it, and the idea that he might be a little bit to blame popped into his mind.

'You have the bed,' he said.

'I'll have the bed,' Sherlock said.

'Mm.' John watched Sherlock gracefully extend himself over the length of the bed.

'Woah,' he muttered, suddenly grabbing hold of the side. 'Think it's… movin'.'

'Oh.' John looked around the rest of the cell. 'I'll have the floor.' He slowly slid down the wall.

'M'just… m'just… I'm…' Sherlock said.

'Wha'?'

'Think she lied to me.'

'Oh.' John squeezed his eyes shut. 'Who did?'

'The woman.'

'Which woman?'

'The woman woman.'

'Oh.' The floor swayed slightly, and John put his hands down to hold it still a bit. 'What woman? You don't know any women.'

'I do!'

'Do you?'

'Loads of them. I know all of them. All the woman.'

'Oh. OK.'

'I'm bashic… I'm basically having sex constant… thing.'

'Really?'

'All the time. With all the woman.'

'OK.' John frowned into the distance. 'You sure that's not me?'

'Um…' There was a pause. 'Might be.'

'Not any more,' John whispered.

'Mm. Why not?'

''Cause of, y'know. The woman. My woman. My wife.'

'Oh, God, I'm going to be ill.' Sherlock pulled himself up.

'Point yourself at the loo.' John pointed, helpfully.

'That's not sanitary.'

'You're not sanitary.'

Sherlock did, thankfully, point himself at the loo.

'Oh God,' he moaned. 'It's like now I've started, I can't stop again.'

'Mm.' John considered getting up to assist, but he couldn't summon the energy.

He woke up a few minutes later as Sherlock crawled back to the little bed.

'She lied,' Sherlock muttered, bitterly.

'Who did?'

'Molly Hoo…' he hiccupped. 'Molly Hooper.'

'Ah. OK.'

'She lied.'

'Mm.' John slowly drifted towards sleep. A thought suddenly hit him, and he jerked awake again. 'Wait a sec… Are you sayin' you sexed with Molly Hooper?'

Sherlock snored.


	3. Tom

**This one takes place after the wedding.**

Tom

Molly settled back into the nice warm cab, filled with a nice warm fuzzy glow. Tom got in beside her, and sat down stiffly. She sidled up to him for snuggles, but he turned away.

'That was a lovely wedding, don't you think?' Molly asked.

'It was fine.'

'Mary's dress was gorgeous. I'm going to have to ask her who designed it.'

'Mm.'

'I mean, I'm not sure I could get away with that cut, but there was a lot about it that I loved.'

'So, you are still intending to marry me then?' Tom sniffed.

'What?' She smiled at him. 'Of course I am.'

'It's just that, you seemed to spend the entire day ignoring me.'

'No I didn't.' She rubbed his thigh. 'We danced! We danced loads.'

'You danced with a lot of people.'

'Hardly.' She sat up and frowned at him. 'What's wrong with you?'

'Nothing!'

'OK then.'

She sat back and looked out of the window.

'It's just that,' Tom said, 'you spent most of the event looking at that detective.'

'What? Well, he was the best man! What did you want me to do? Stare at the floor while he made his speech?'

'I didn't mean that detective!'

'Then what on earth are you talking about?'

'I mean, the man sat right next to you, who you kept looking at all the way through dinner. Little, furtive, stolen glances. The one who talked about dwarves without you rolling your eyes or stabbing him with a fork.'

'Greg?'

'Is that his name? You didn't bother to introduce me.'

'I just… _Greg_? He's just a colleague!'

'You virtually had your back to me for some of it, so cosy you were with him! There was a full metre between our chairs by the end.'

'But…_Greg? _Seriously; he's a friend!_'_

'And he had his arm around your chair.'

'He was just… trying to sit comfortably!'

'And you danced with him.'

'We all danced with him! We were part of a group! We danced with Mrs Hudson too!'

'No, she'd disappeared by that point. You and _Greg_ seemed very reluctant to sit down. You were up there until the very last song.'

'We were just enjoying a nice evening. I'm very sorry if you didn't think I was giving you enough attention.'

'It's _fine._'

Tom turned his back to look out of the window.

Molly glared at him.

'For God's sake, Greg, I can't believe you're going to ruin what had been a perfectly pleasant day.'

Tom turned around and gave her an exhausted, sorrowful look.

'My name's _Tom_.'

Molly bit her lip and looked away.


End file.
